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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189952">Pizza My Heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/terroruki/pseuds/terroruki'>terroruki</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(kind of), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkwardness, Crush at First Sight, First Meetings, Getting Together, M/M, One Shot, a little angst as a treat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:34:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189952</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/terroruki/pseuds/terroruki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dimitri hates being a customer. He understands how food service workers must put up with people's nonsense and how they probably loathe their jobs and how it's highly inappropriate to ask one on a date. He knows this. But the red-head in the Pizza Hut hat gives him a dashing smile, and he really, really wants to.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pizza My Heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>get it? like "piece" of my heart? i'm a terrible person</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1. </p><p>The first time, he actually <em> does </em>want pizza. Or rather simply, the cheese. He is deeply, unapologetically, craving the greasy, melted cheese that often appears on such food. Dedue is the one who suggests Pizza Hut. The place is close, and neither of them are particularly picky on which restaurant chain they eat from. It’s late on a Friday night and they’re already halfway through watching BBC Earth’s newest documentary on coral reef pollution. The program is genuinely enriching, as far as the two friends are concerned, but not interesting enough to ignore the noises of hunger Dimitri’s stomach decides to embarrass him with. They need dinner in order to continue.</p><p>Dimitri reluctantly makes the dreaded awkward phone call. Ordering food isn’t inherently an awkward act. It is the man himself, who lacks any ounce of charm or people skills that would help in a smooth transaction, making it so. The phone rings twice before a rather cranky sounding voice on the other line speaks.</p><p>“Hey. This is Pizza Hut. Order.”</p><p>“Uh, yes.” Dimitri sputters out. He surveys the website’s menu one last time to be positively sure on what he is about to say. He should have had more practice in this. Alas, he finds himself more and more becoming a recluse with one friend who orders all of his groceries delivered to his doorstep online. He answers the rest of the man’s questions like address and credit card number relatively well. Then it comes to:</p><p>“That’ll be $12.99. Can I have a name for the order?” Dimitri panics.</p><p>“Lambert,” is the first thing his mind can muster. His deceased father. Wonderful.</p><p>“We’ll have that out to  you in twenty minutes. Bye.” Click. Listening to the faint hum of the dial to make sure the worker is really gone, Dimitri holds the phone closely to his ear before sighing and putting it back on the landline.</p><p>“I will not be getting the door.” Dedue states. Which is his way of lightly, yet lovingly, pushing Dimitri towards more human interaction. It is Dimitri’s house, Dimitri’s money paying for it, and while Dedue has fervently expressed more than once he would lay down his life for Dimitri, he still will not be answering the pizza man for him. Fair enough. If Dimitiri must shoulder this burden alone, he will. </p><p>Dedue doesn’t question Lambert’s name. He stays seated in the recliner, hands folded in his lap. It is nice to know, if not a little selfish to expect, that Dedue remains the same throughout Dimitri’s ups and downs. Their friendship stems from a place of love, dedication, and possibly a lack of self respect on Dedue’s end. They’ve been trying to work on that. Dimitri calls him in the middle of the night praying to whatever god that Dedue won’t pick up, but he always does. He’ll come over and wash the dirty dishes that have been piling up in the sink for weeks. He’ll care for Dimitri’s withered and unloved houseplants until eventually giving up and buying him fake ones. He’ll read to him some old medieval knight’s tale until he’s certain Dimitri is finally asleep. It’s nice to have the help. It’s pathetic to need the help. But hopefully, recovery is in reach for both of them. A step so small as ordering takeout is still a step.</p><p>The two sit in comfortable silence as the documentary resumes. He picks at his cuticles until they bleed as the waiting only fuels his anxiety. A ding-dong rings out from the front of the house. Dedue gives him one of his signature slight smiles and a reassuring thumbs up.</p><p>Dimitri isn’t expecting anything when he opens the door. Worst-case scenario, the deliverer is a disguised hitman that brutally stabs him. Or the bloody ghost of his step-mother. Or an incredibly attractive man his age whose eyes quickly scan the length of Dimitri’s body before asking:</p><p>“Hey, handsome. You ordered a pizza?” Oh God. Oh shit. He can’t do this. Dimitri turns around to double check that the one being addressed as handsome is him and not Dedue secretly behind him. No one else is there. His eyes revert to the pizza man smirking at him and waiting for a response. He lifts the pizza a little higher in the air to emphasize: <em>hey, you ordered this, right? </em></p><p>“Uh, yes. I did.” There’s a swallow at the end of his sentence as he tries to force down the blood rushing to his cheeks. He’s been flirted with before, at his father’s extravagant Christmas parties where girls would try to woo the future heir of the Blaiddyd political throne. It always left him feeling used and a bit guilty knowing that they were most interested in the parliament member’s son, not Dimitri himself. Polite, relatively dull Dimitri with nothing to offer them but status. And all that was before The Accident. Before he started growing out disheveled, unwashed hair. Before he needed to cover up an empty eye socket with a patch as to not scare children or make strangers uncomfortable. If Dimitri ever had a prime, it has definitely already happened. So the simple word <em> handsome </em>sets his blood on fire. If he couldn’t handle empty compliments then without becoming flustered, then there is no way he could handle them now. He practically rips the box out of the man’s hands before slamming the door in his face.</p><p>There’s no knock or demand for an apology from the other side, just the shuffling of footsteps descending the porch stairs. Dimitri stands there in frozen horror replaying his actions, and soon enough he hears the sound of an engine and a car driving off.</p><p>Never. Never in Dimitri’s privileged, yet traumatic, life has he slammed a door. Not intentionally, at least. His unawareness of his own strength proved to get him into trouble when trying to open a flimsy patio screen door led to accidentally ripping it off its hinges. But this is different. This act of door abuse and rudeness to a fast food worker is entirely of his own volition. Even if he wishes he could take it back or apologize to the pizza man a hundred times over, it would still be too late. Dimitri is always too late to save anything or anyone. That’s why it’s better for him to hide in the shadows and stay out of everyone’s way. Forever.</p><p>He can only lamentingly gawk for so long before his body reminds him he is indeed starving and the pizza in his hands is only growing colder. He returns to Dedue, ashamed of his behavior and hanging his head low.</p><p>“Did something happen?”</p><p>“No, it’s nothing.” He will just brood about it all night. Perhaps the rest of his life.</p><p> </p><p>2. </p><p>“Never be afraid to take action, Dimitri. It is better to lose or become hated than to stand idle and become nothing at all.” Dimitri couldn’t fully grasp the meaning of his father’s words at the time, but he still hung on to every one. </p><p>Lambert had put a sturdy hand on his adolescent son’s shoulder. They were all gathered around, everyone important to him, to hear the results of the election. He remembers his father’s blinding smile at the landslide majority, how he swore there were beginnings of tears in the politician’s eyes.</p><p>Sometimes fond memories like these haunt him more than the tragic ones. The chorus of cheers that night, his stepmother throwing her arms around him in celebration. They are all things too painful to remember. He longs to silence the flood of noise coming from dead lips in his mind. He knows they’re not here. Isn’t that the worst part? The knowing? Knowing they’re dead, knowing the accident was five years ago but continuing to live through it every day. Knowing normal people don’t have trouble talking to others and making their own food. Normal people have the motivation to take a shower once in a while. He knows it, but sometimes logic isn’t enough.</p><p>Nevermind that, his father was right. Dimitri would take action. He would call back Pizza Hut and make things right. Perhaps he could amend this dumb minor thing in his dumb insignificant life. The doorbell rings, and he takes a deep breath.</p><p>He’s greeted by the same charming smile as the first time. Dimitri hastily searches the pizza man’s face for any signs of resentment, anger, disgust. He’s left with nothing but a customer service mask that all employees are trained to wear. Either Dimitri means nothing to him, which is very palpable considering they met only once, or the man is a superb actor when it comes to hiding his annoyance.</p><p>“Extra cheese pizza for Lambert?” Dimitri involuntarily recoils at the name, now remembering they always save these sorts of things in the system. An overwhelming wave is thrust upon him as he thinks of all the things he has to do: thoroughly apologize for the other day, correct his name (still debating on whether this was a good idea or not), take the pizza, and <em> gently </em>shut the door. He tries to remember one of those inspirational Pinterest quotes Dedue is always sending him for motivation, but nothing comes to mind. How long has it been since he opened the door? Seconds? Minutes? </p><p>“Yes, I ordered that.” Dimitri tries to clear his throat, but it ends up coming out as an awkward cough. Unphased, the ginger nods and hands him the pizza.</p><p>“Thank you,” He straightens his shoulders and looks the delivery man straight in the eye, “And I am immensely sorry for my behavior the other day. It was incredibly rude to close the door without proper acknowledgement or gratitude for your service. I know I cannot take back my actions, but I am hoping you can forgive my insolence and that we can put this behind us.” He speaks perhaps too quickly because the Pizza Hut employee stares at him skeptically with a raised eyebrow. Dimitri always had the issue of appearing too formal and making people uncomfortable, but it was essentially hard-wired in his genes. He descended from a lengthy line of politicians, always giving speeches, performing for the masses. Even after the accident, he couldn’t turn it off. For better or worse, Lambert had ingrained it into him.</p><p>“It’s cool. I just assumed it embarrassed you.” The gorgeous, still unnamed, man leans a hand on the side of the doorframe and winks. “I tend to have that effect on people.” Wait, is he still flirting? The previous door slamming hadn’t weakened his resolve at all. Dimitri wonders if he was this relentless with all customers. The poor women ordering their pizza from this man... If they were closer, Dimitri might have even admonished him for his trampy behavior. Nonetheless, he could no longer find the strength to look up from his shoes, too afraid he’ll melt by this meaningless banter. If it was even banter at all, not Dimitri being delusional and self-centered thinking anyone would find him the least bit desirable.</p><p>“Thank you.” Dimitri repeats himself. “Have a pleasant night.” He closes the door before the other can respond with a ‘you too’.</p><p> </p><p>3. </p><p>“You may,” Dedue closes his eyes and sighs, “have a so-called ‘crush’ on the pizza delivery man.”</p><p>“What? No. That’s preposterous. I simply-“ Dimitri surveys the numerous pizza boxes in the kitchen, all containing whole, uneaten pies he has no intention of consuming. Two weeks of this. Almost every night he buys a pizza at 7pm, and almost every night the same man returns to hand it to him with a smile that makes Dimitri’s stomach somersault. And each delivery escalates the situation. More winks, more biceps peeking out of a Pizza Hut shirt for Dimitri to stare at, more wishing each other a good night. He doesn’t even like pizza that much. His pride suddenly deflates with this unnerving realization. He solemnly must admit to himself.</p><p>“I simply... have a crush on the pizza delivery man.” Dedue nods again.</p><p>“And are you going to do something about it?” Dimitri cringes even at the thought of telling a fast food worker about his school-boy-crush on him. He already feels guilty enough for having one, for wasting all this food and time and money to support a juvenile fantasy that he might reciprocate his feelings. That Dimitri could go on a date with this man and not spontaneously combust. They’re strangers completing a normal transaction and it would be foolish to expect more, to want more. And Dimitri still has yet to learn his name.</p><p>“No. I’ll keep all my emotions right here... and then one day I’ll die.”</p><p>“I am not in favor of that plan, but I will also not force you to do otherwise.”</p><p>“Don’t you do the same thing?” Dedue grunts as a response but doesn’t deny it. But once Dimitri begins to overthink it, he panics. “Should I, though? Should I tell him? Wouldn’t it be unfair to keep it a secret? Don’t I owe him an explanation for my sudden obsession with Pizza Hut? Is it too late? He must think I’m insane, eating a whole pizza by myself every night. He must think-”</p><p>“You should shower, and I’ll dispose of all these boxes cluttering your room. Then we can read a story before trying to sleep.” Dimitri’s shoulders automatically untense at hearing Dedue’s words. Yes, a hot shower would be nice. Then they will read a story to distract his mind. A plan was good. He used to always follow a schedule growing up in his father’s house. School, student council duties, studies, sports, spending time with family, and then sleep. The calm, peaceful sleep that used to come so easy to him as a child after a busy day. Now his hours were sporadic and often nonexistent. Yet Dedue made things better. He always had. So Dimitri would sleep tonight, dreaming about a beautiful, ridiculously flirty delivery man liking him back.</p><p> </p><p>4. </p><p>He’s so eager to open the door it wouldn’t be surprising if he ripped it off its hinges. And once again, the pizza guy (Dimitri is begging to learn his name so he can stop calling him that) is there waiting for him, a cardboard box balancing easily on one hand.</p><p>“Damn, dude. You must really like our pizza, huh?” He says as soon as they make eye contact, stretching his free arm behind his back. Rats. Dimitri has been suspected. Well, it may now be an appropriate time to practice those “moves” he had researched. After Dedue innocently asked the question that would have him spiraling into Google search after Google search on how to flirt with guys, Dimitri decided he must improve upon his seductive skills, if you could call them that, to best appropriately approach this. He wasn’t a stranger to flattery, or romance for that matter. It had just been so long, five years to be exact, since he had wanted to impress anyone like this. They highly praised compliments to be a successful tactic in having someone grow fond of you. He should test one out. <em> Subtly, </em> he thinks. </p><p>“Ah, yes... The service is quite nice too.” Heat can’t help but creep into his cheeks as he says it. The man sharply exhales a laugh-but-not-really a laugh.</p><p>“Well, yeah. I’m pretty quick. I might have accidentally run over some kids speeding to get here, though.” Dimitri blinks, and the joke falls flat. “Kidding, of course.”</p><p>“Oh, of course.” Silence. “I should mention my name isn’t actually Lambert. It’s Dimitri.”</p><p>“Nice. My name’s Sylvain.” <em> Sylvain Sylvain Sylvain. </em> His brain rolls it around, finding the best place to store such a precious proper noun. “I’d usually have a name tag, but I printed mine out to say ‘hot stuff’ and my boss said I couldn’t wear it... or get a new one.” <em> What a stupid story, </em> Dimitri thinks, <em> I shouldn’t find this funny or cute in the slightest. </em> All he can do is nod and try to become more obvious with his advances.</p><p>“An appropriate title for you. I’m sorry they banned you from wearing it.” Sylvain shrugs.</p><p>“Eh, I guess it was a little too on the nose.” He smiles, and it’s more genuine than Dimitri has ever seen it. Not a strained customer service grin or smirk after a suggestive comment. It’s big, almost kind of goofy. The moment passes, and Sylvain hands him the pizza. They rehearse the usual ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome’ lines before Sylvain’s face turns coy once again.</p><p>“You know, if you’re only ordering from us to see me, getting the bread sticks will save you some money.” And with that, he turns the other direction, walks down the front doorsteps, gets in the car, and drives off. All with Dimitri open mouthed, still searching for words.</p><p> </p><p>5. </p><p>“You need to be there. In case I die of embarrassment or unrequited affection.”</p><p>“I highly doubt you will die.”</p><p>“Please Dedue. Didn’t you say you’d support me no matter what?” He feels guilty for using the other’s words against him, to almost manipulate him like this. But Dimitri isn’t sure he can do this without some moral support.</p><p>“Yes.” Dimitri can almost hear Dedue’s jaw clench over the phone as he swallows his own reservations and feelings to serve Dimitri. “Then I will wait in the living room while you tell him.”</p><p>“Thank you.” He lets go a sigh of relief. “I am glad we are friends.”</p><p>“Friends.” Dedue echos, almost disheartened by the word. “I will see you tomorrow, then.” There’s a beep Dimitri wasn’t ever expecting to hear from him. Dedue never hangs up first. He always makes sure all of Dimitri’s needs are met and then some. Something has shifted. Something has changed. Perhaps for the better.</p><p>Dimitri doesn’t want Dedue to always wait for him. They need to be their own separate people, to rely on themselves for comfort. This delivery man situation has helped Dimitri realize how dependent they are on each other. They’re both survivors of the same trauma. It is understandable to need that connection, but maybe it has gone too far. At least for Dimitri. And such a little thing it is, to hang up first, but it means so much. It means growth, acceptance, and the introduction to unfamiliar people. An unfamiliar person. Yet it hurts. Change hurts, and he almost panics assuming Dedue will leave him. But he inhales four, exhales five, and looks at it objectively. He texts Dedue that he won’t be needing his help after all, and gives Pizza Hut a call.</p><p>The twenty-minute wait is excruciating. He tries to read to occupy his mind from all the what ifs. Then he gives up and attempts to watch TV, but he doesn’t even like TV excluding Animal Planet and some cooking shows. <em> An eagle perched up on a high tree looks down at the lions lazing below. It’s as if the beasts are worlds apart, even when they share the same camera lense. </em> The narrator’s soothing voice pushes the nervousness bubbling up in Dimitri’s throat back down to his stomach. It’s not perfect, but it’s better. A bell rings, and suddenly Dimitri is uncharacteristically calm. He’s not a lion in the wilderness, struggling to survive. He’s a man in a nice house. A man who ordered bread sticks as a hint.</p><p>“Hey!” They meet at the threshold for what feels like the hundredth time.</p><p>“Sylvain.” He says it with ease, like it’s a familiar word. A word that’s been in his mouth all along. “How are you?”</p><p>“I’m good.” He nods with a sheepish smile, not used to such questions from customers. “I mean, there’s stuff I’d rather be doing, obviously, but it’s always a little better when I see your address pop up.” Before Dimitri has a chance to thoughtfully consider his response, he says:</p><p>“I bet you say that to everyone.” Brown eyes open wide in surprise at the tease, or at least, what was supposed to be a tease. <em> My tone may have been too harsh, </em> he thinks. Dimitri is the most assertive he’s been in years, yet he can still make things awkward with only a few words. The corners of Sylvain’s mouth turn up. He’s regained his fake confidence.</p><p>“Nah, I’m serious. You’re my favorite regular customer, the hottest, at least.” Dimitri’s urge to slam a door and go hide in his room from embarrassment has never been so strong. Pardon his language, but fuck. “But hey, I’ll knock it off. I get you’re not into me.”</p><p>“What?!” He almost squawks. Sylvain furrows his eyebrows in confusion at Dimitri’s shock.</p><p>“I’ve been writing my number inside the pizza boxes for days, dude. You never called, so I guessed you were straight or something.” <em> Dimitri... straight?? </em> This miscommunication seems to come right out of a cheesy romantic comedy.</p><p>“I assure you - no, I - I guess I never noticed,” is all he can manage to clarify with his brain buzzing at this anagnorisis: <em> they like each other. </em> And this could have all been resolved sooner if Dimitri ate some stupid pizza instead of miserably letting the boxes pile up in the kitchen unopened. “I would have loved to call you.” Now, for the first time, there’s a hint of shyness on Sylvain’s face.</p><p>“Oh, word? Well, uh,” he takes out a pen from his back pocket and messily, frantically, and definitely not smoothly, scribbles his number on the paper bag containing the breadsticks. Dimitri gently takes the bag in awe as if it is a sacred artifact. Like this number holds all the answers. He knows it was an idealistic crush, yet for the first time in years, he becomes excited to go out and get to know someone new. They could go see a movie, or go bowling, or have a pleasant walk in the park. They could even go out to dinner... as long as it wasn’t pizza. He is tired of that shit.</p><p>
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